


At Your Tech And Brawl

by Nellblazer



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Cabarets, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Gods, Mad Sweeney Needs a Hug (American Gods), Manipulation, New Gods, Polyamory, Pop Culture, Singing, Sirens, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: A siren working at the Regius Theatre for Mr Wednesday you sing for the old gods to help create worship but the New Gods are eyeing your skills up and are keen to make you an offer.Commission piece for @dragon430. Plot and song choices chosen.*Please do not replicate my work anywhere else without my express permission*
Relationships: Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/Reader, Mad Sweeney (American Gods)/You, Technical Boy (American Gods)/You, technical boy/reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	At Your Tech And Brawl

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sexism, swearing, Mr Wednesday being emotionally abusive.
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

You always loved that moment before you hit the stage, where you just walked in in your regular clothing and drew absolutely no attention to yourself.

It was a special kind of moment to blend back into the shadows, to just be yourself and not have fawning words and lovesick declarations. You'd grown to hate it over the millennia. You're not as young as you used to be and the quiet was nice.

You can barely remember the rush you used to get from making sailors crash into rocks just for the chance to be near you.

“You're on in ten, my dear,” Wednesday winks his good eye, smoothing his slicked hair out of habit. “Knock 'em dead.”

You get ready in the back, the ludicrously outrageous gown tightened to form the most severe curves to your body but it was all part of the act, the seduction. Wednesday liked a cabaret act after all.

When you walked out into darkness, having moved to your spot many times already in the pitch black, you set up and waited for the lighting crew to do their thing. At once, when the spotlight hit, there was a frenzy of men and women who recognised you now you were all dolled up as they surged to the front.

“It's our very own, Sireeeeeen,” Wednesday announces.

You wished he'd not given you such a tongue in cheek name but you doubted anyone would believe what your name was. Better to keep the mystery, and the distance from patrons.

“Well I hope you're having a mighty fine evening,” you coo into the microphone to tumultuous screaming. “This one's for all our friends in the Emerald Isle.”

Every night you sang one upgraded folk song for one of the pantheon of gods here. The more the customers sang along, the more worship the gods got. You worked on a rotating system and tonight it was the Celtic gods, though you'd not seem them for some time, you still sang their words.

There was always a chance one would find their way to the Regius Theatre.

“ _Imtheochaidh soir is siar, A dtainig ariamh, An ghealach is an ghrian, Fol lol the doh fol the day  
fol the day fol the day.._.”

The change in the patrons was immediate. Some started desperately trying to get on the stage but Wednesday had blocked it off so you'd be safe. Some began touching themselves, trying to entice you. Some simply started dancing like this was a Bacchanalia. You could never predict the effect your singing would have.

“ _Imtheochaidh an ghealach's an ghrian, An Daoine og is a chail 'na dhiadh..._ ”

And then you saw him at the bar area. It's hard not to miss the glow gods get when they're being worshipped. One of the Celtic pantheon had finally visited.

He was a bulky man, tall once he'd gotten up from his stool you'd reckon and with a shock of red hair that he kept under a flat cap. He catches your eye and raises his drink as if in thanks before smiling.

You nod back before continuing your song and then onto the more traditional classics. Donar, Wednesday's boy, had to man the front of the stage at one point for one overzealous and acrobatic woman was climbing over the barriers. She's struggling in his huge arms and he just gives you a look and sighs.

You'd laugh if you weren't in the middle of singing.

Finally your set is done and you blow a kiss which makes three people faint on the spot before heading back to the dressing room and beginning the transformation back to semi-normal. Wednesday liked you to hang around the theatre to encourage customers to keep looking. If you seemed attainable, they might come back.

This usually meant Donar had to shadow you most of the night but he had his own little fan club to deal with mostly.

Out in the bar area, you order a drink, which is always on the house and sit back to watch the next act. It's always peaceful to view things from back here.

“Well aren't you just ten shades of gorgeous?” a man in a navy suit approaches you. “I heard your singing and I have to say, I was entranced.”

“That was the point, honey,” you give him a lazy look through the false eyelashes you had on.

“A man would love to wake up in the morning to that voice,” he gets closer.

“Record it and use it as an alarm clock then.”

He's clearly not taking the hint because he gets in your personal space and you can smell the sweet and sickly scent of rum rolling off of him. It's making you recoil a little bit.

“Much rather have the real thing, sweetheart. Never seen you with a man in this place and I think you need one in your life.”

“What I need is for you to back up,” you give him a pointed glare.

“Playing hard to get, huh? I'll bite. What does a guy like me have to do to get your attention?”

“Leave me alone?”

“Don't be like that, baby.”

“The lady said no. Several times,” comes a thickly accented voice. “Now fuck off before I throw ya across this room.”

“I don't see your name on her, pal.”

It's at that moment you take the opportunity to sock him hard in the jaw and he goes sprawling backwards. Donar makes a noise behind you, a tiny gasp of self admonishment that he didn't see how bad the situation was getting and he picks up the guy with one hand and starts dragging him outside.

“Nice punch,” the god smiles. “And nice pipes. Been a while since I heard that one n' I kinda like the updated version.”

“Glad you did.”

“What's a siren doing in Wednesday's place?” he sits closer but you don't mind that so much. He seems quite friendly.

“Gotta get my worship where I can and he made an offer to make it mutually beneficial to whoever is in here at the time,” you order another drink after quickly downing the last one. “It works.”

“Islands just not bringing in the crowds like they used to?”

“Not the quality I would like. Sure I could go to Magaluf and sing near a party boat but I'm bored of young and drunk offerings. Not like the old sailors used to be.”

“At least yer still gettin' worship, lass,” the god laughs. “Ain't nobody prayed to ol' Sweeney in a long time.”

“Sorry to hear that,” and you are genuinely sorry.

It's not easy seeing some of the prayer starved gods in here sometimes. You're lucky to have such a skill to get worship so easily.

“Don't be sorry,” Sweeney tips his glass to you. “Happens to all of us eventually. Sometimes I miss the old days and sometimes I'm so thankful I can get good spirits quickly nowadays. Plus porn has been a huge improvement on the world.”

You laugh and he winks, telling you he was only joking.

“Yer too nice to be hanging around with Wednesday,” he assesses you with golden eyes. “Far too pretty too.”

“You're only saying that because of the stage outfit.”

“No, I'm not. I saw ya come in before in sweatpants. Yer not just a set of lungs, lass. That ain't the only special thing about ya.”

Were you feeling a little hot under the collar? It's not often someone can make you feel flustered. Usually it's you who made everyone a little dumbstruck.

“I know, I'm a charmer,” he catches your expression and shrugs his shoulders playfully. “But I call a pretty girl when I see one.”

The rest of the evening is spent in pleasant conversation until Wednesday comes over to give you your cut of the profits from today. Sweeney clams up immediately and you get the sense they didn't get on much.

**

You saw Sweeney fairly regularly after that.

He'd stop by on his travels, wait patiently until you'd finished your set and you'd talk about everything and anything. He regaled you with stories from the time he was a king and you would tell him the stories of your most famous encounters.

“Odysseus?! Really?! That was _you_?!” Sweeney booms out, making Donar look up from his paper in alarm.

“Yeah that was me. Nearly had him as well. Smart bastard,” you shake your head. “If only he'd been a little bit stronger in breaking those ropes and he'd be my most famous offering.”

“Still, it's a great tale,” Sweeney grins. “Even we've heard of it in the homelands.”

“Sweeney? Thanks for talking with me,” you touch his arm. “I've never just spoken with someone who didn't want something from me or was under the spell. Well...except Donar but he's not much for conversation.”

“I heard that,” Donar grumbles.

“You were meant to,” you look over your shoulder at him and wink.

“Anytime, lass. You've made me feel about a thousand years younger already,” Sweeney covers your hand with his huge one.

“Excuse me, my good man,” Wednesday interrupts from nowhere, getting in between the two of you. “No touching of the star attraction. It's house rules.”

“She touched me first!” Sweeney protests.

“And I'll be speaking to her about that very shortly but I don't want anyone thinking she's attached. It's just business.”

You're being dragged away and that's probably a good thing because Sweeney stood up suddenly and if Wednesday hadn't directed you to his office, you're sure a fight might have happened. Most of Sweeney's tales had ended in brawls and you could see it brewing just then.

“Pardon my language but what in the good _fuck_ are you doing?” Wednesday glowers, his good eye blazing with anger. “We had a deal, my dear.”

“I didn't kiss the guy, I just put my hand on his arm!” you round on him. “You can't keep me like a wallflower virgin.”

“You'd have to be a virgin for a start,” he replies acidly. “But that's the con. This sultry maiden who remains just out of reach. Punters think they're in with a chance, women want to experiment with their sexuality. They're not going to do that if you're climbing that big ginger tree out there. It's all about image.”

“Fine, I'll see him in private.”

“Do whatever you fucking want, sweetheart but keep it out of my theatre. Got that? Work is work. Fuck on your own time.”

“Like you do? You don't think I see you taking girls into your office whilst the show is going on?”

“Perks of being the boss,” he sarcastically bows. “You know this is for both of our sakes, my dear. You don't want to go back to singing in dive bars and finding islands in the Mediterranean, do you?”

“Fine, I'll keep my private affairs private.”

“Attagirl. Now, let's go back out there and big smile, alright? Since you caused a scene, we'll have you close the show to remind everyone to come back.”

“Caused a scene?!”

“Off you go,” he pushes you by the ass out onto the main concourse again.

You were bristling with rage as he directed you to your usual spot on the bar and you saw, with a pang of disappointment, that Sweeney had gone. Donar was walking back from the door and you put two and two together.

Donar had ejected him from the theatre.

“Was that really necessary?” you hiss at your overbearing bodyguard.

“Dad's orders,” he shrugs.

“I'll leave you to it. I spy a lonely widower over there,” Wednesday slicks back his hair and goes to target his prey for the night.

“You really are a Daddy's boy, you know,” you hit Donar in the chest which does absolutely nothing.

“So you don't want the leprechaun's phone number then?” Donar fishes in his pocket and draws out a slip of paper. “I didn't hurt him. I just spoke with him and he left. I'm not the meathead you think I am.”

“Oh....sorry,” you take the paper, unfolding it and seeing Sweeney's number written there. “Did he say he'd come back?”

“Yeah. I warned him against it but yeah he did.”

That made you smile and you finally accepted sitting down in your spot to be the theatre's resident eye candy again.

You didn't realise that more people than just patrons were watching. Two of the New Gods were scanning your every move.

“There she is,” Mr World slyly points out. “If Wednesday is that anxious about keeping her in line, she's the link to breaking him. Media, I want you and the Technical Boy to come to her show tomorrow and give her our offer. If we can get her on our side...a siren is a very powerful tool indeed.”

“I can do this on my own,” Media raises one of Liza Minnelli's heavily pencilled eyebrows. “I'm the people person after all.”

“The Technical Boy is better at explaining how we can expand her worship through gadgets and such. I understand he's not very polite but you can keep him in line....can't you?”

Media sees the silent challenge and scoffs, smoothing the short hair back, “Of course I can.”

“Excellent,” Mr World grins. “Why Liza, by the way?”

“It's a cabaret, darling. I thought it'd be fitting.”

**

You didn't see Sweeney when you walked in the next night and you felt a slight knot of rejection deep in your stomach.

You called him when you were in the dressing room but the number didn't connect. Had he given you false contact details or was he in some kind of trouble? You'd rather think it was the latter because you'd gotten very close to the Celtic god over the last few weeks and you didn't want Wednesday to have scared him off.

Shaking that sinking feeling, you walk out onto the stage and get ready to sing.

Three rows back, Media is wearing Judy Garland's appearance and the Technical Boy sits there, playing games on his phone. The distaste was evident on Media's face that he'd made no effort to look presentable, wearing a tank top with a digital mesh print sweater over the top and tight jeans.

“Stop giving me side eye, Dorothy,” he snarls. “God, why did Mr World even send me here with you? I hate the theatre. That's your gig.”

“You know why he asked you to join me. Stop complaining.”

“But it's so boring,” he looks to the ceiling. “It's nice on TV when it's edited and there's effects and strobes and shit but straight live music? Highkey not interested.”

“Then sit there and shut up until it's our time to make a move,” Media scowls. “Be grateful Mr World even thinks you're worth tagging along. You've been nothing but a pain to him for a good long while.”

“Can walk any time, sweetheart,” the Technical Boy blows a sarcastic kiss. “Just show me the yellow brick road.”

“Cretin,” Media mutters under her breath.

He doesn't care though. He used to being the lowest ladder on the rung around Mr World.

He gets on with his game as the lights flare on and you make your entrance. He's not watching though, too busy directing his virtual troops until you start singing.

It's a jazz cover of a song he vaguely recognises from modern TV but he's listening more to the lyrics than anything.

“ _-You think you own me, but you can't control me-_ ”

Summed up his life about now. He was tired of being Mr World's pawn when he was just as equal a god in his own right.

“ _-You push me back, I push you back, Harder, Harder-_ ”

If only he could. What he wouldn't give to wipe the smug expression from Media's face sometimes. A sense of unity was keeping him from lashing out but if they pushed him too far....

Then he looked up and there was a clatter as his phone dropped to the table. He'd never seen anyone as beautiful as you but the thing that was captivating him the most was the pure emotion you were channelling into the song.

This wasn't just an ordinary set piece, a scheduled tune. You were angry, furious and the Technical Boy saw that rebellious spirit flaring brightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wednesday looking ruffled.

Okay, so this was definitely not a planned song. This was your way of fighting back and boy, did he like it.

“ _-You think you want me but you don't know what you're getting into-_ ”

Oh he thought he rather did. A girl like you would be all sorts of fun. He even thought, though there was probably thousands of years between you, that there was a kindred soul there. Someone bored with their lot in life and needing to break out of it.

“Fuck,” he says audibly and Media notices.

“Like what you see?” she says knowingly. “So does everyone else in this place.”

“I don't like her because she's a fucking siren, Media,” he growls. “You think that has any effect on me?”

“Well it's working for me, darling,” she laughs, going glassy eyed as she continues watching the performance.

So why didn't it work on him?

He got his answer when you winked directly at him. You weren't directing your power his way and he wondered why.

The more he watched you, the more he needed answers. He wanted to know why you'd chosen him, he wanted to know what made you tick, where you wanted to run to, if he could free you from Wednesday. He'd never gotten this weird about a girl before and it was throwing him off.

“She's done,” Media blinks herself back to a normal state again. “She'll change and come to the bar like she always does. At least the leprechaun is staying away tonight.”

“What leprechaun?” the Technical Boy asks very quickly.

“The big one, the redhead. Wednesday must be keeping him away. Come along. We need to prepare.”

Nothing could've prepared him for being so close to you though. You shared a moment of eye contact, a shared understanding before Media launched into her sales pitch.

“-you don't want to stay here night after night, do you? You could have the world at your fingertips, worship unlike any siren has ever had.”

“And what about the old gods?” you reply warily.

“What have they done for you other than keep you in a cage? Too afraid that you'll fly away and leave them destitute?”

The Technical Boy can see they're winning you over a little. He's known that confined look himself.

“So what will you do for me?”

“Well my associate, the Technical Boy will explain more,” Media leaves the proverbial floor to him.

He couldn't seem like he was too interested, too curious because he'd never hear the end of it. He needed to carry on as he usually did.

“Listen lady, I got access to things you ain't even dreamed of,” he starts. “I got the internet, phone apps, hologram concerts, I got everything to make you a megastar. When the time comes that it's too obvious you don't age, I can reinvent a digital avatar for you to keep singing. Your melodies will never die, you can have worship for _centuries_ to come and you don't need to be in this fucking shithole working for a god who doesn't think you're worth fresh air.”

“Digital, huh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Think I would look good in pixels, Tech?”

Tech. He didn't like people shortening his name but he sure liked it when you did. It felt like an in-joke somehow.

“You know you would look hella fine in pixels,” he laughs. “Your image would endure _forever_. Maybe Media will end up wearing your face one day. It'd be a fucking improvement from these yesteryear hasbeens.”

“Perhaps I would,” Media shrugs before a phone starts ringing in the Technical Boy's pocket and he answers it.

“Yeah? Kinda in the middle of something,” he sasses Mr World who was on the other end.

“I need Media back here. Continue with the siren. If you don't get on her side within the month we're going to seriously have to look at your future in the new gods pantheon.”

He clicks off and turns to Media, “Mr World wants you.”

“Very well, I'll leave you two to it,” Media glides away.

“Who says I want to be around forever?” you wait until she's out of the door. “I'm already very old.”

“And you're lookin' like a total snack still, sweetheart,” he relaxes now he's not standing on ceremony. “I wonder if I'll feel the same way in a few millennia.”

“You're already feeling the same way. I could see the same trapped expression that I'm sure I have from across the room.”

“Is that why you didn't include me in the song?”

“Why would I want to enslave someone who's already enslaved in their own mind?”

“You really get me,” he leans forward, utterly fascinated. “I didn't think an old god would.”

“We're not that different, Tech.”

“You know what, fuck the sales pitch. Just talk to me, baby. I like hearing you talk,” he sits down on the stool. “Tell me how I can free you from this place.”

“I don't know how you can. Wednesday will never let me go without a fight,” you order a drink and knock it back swiftly. “And I can't just leave the old gods without worship. Some of them are only just clinging on.”

“What if we come to a compromise? We give you a bigger platform and you keep singing your old songs?” he ventures.

Mr World would be so so angry at him for even suggesting it but the Technical Boy didn't care. He was enamoured with you already and he'd do anything to stop that sad little smile you wore right now.

“Do you think we could?”

Oh when your eyes brightened, he was a goner. He'd never experienced infatuation before. People had always been disposable to him but there was something about you that captured his attention wholeheartedly and he'd not even looked at his phone once. That was unheard of.

“Baby, I'd do anything to see you genuinely smile.”

And you did.

**

You still tried calling Sweeney sometimes but the number remained out of service.

Part of you was worried that maybe something had happened to him and the other part of you wondered if he wasn't just full of shit and he'd turned tail and run from Wednesday and Donar.

The Technical Boy, on the other hand, had been coming every single night.

He came into the dressing room rather than meeting at the bar and he'd walk you home sometimes. He gave you a taster of what you could experience through a collaboration with the new gods when he put a video of you singing on Tiktok and the comments were a wild read. You hadn't felt this full of worship in years and it was energising as hell.

You also found you were confiding in the Technical Boy as much as you had done to Sweeney. He was young, very young to you but he had the soul of someone thousands of years older. There was that twinge of feeling like you'd had for the leprechaun.

He was supposed to be the enemy, his Gen Z slang was a little hard to navigate sometimes but he was actually very endearing underneath the snark.

“You think Donar knows there's such a thing as an electric razor?” he snorts as you watch Donar try to neaten his beard up with a dagger.

“If it doesn't have a three inch blade, he's not interested,” you laugh.

“I've got more than a three inch blade if _you're_ interested,” the Technical Boy jokes.

“I'll have to see if that claim holds true sometime,” you flirt back.

“I hope you will, sweetheart,” he grins.

“Is this little runt botherin' ya?”

You balked as you heard the Irish accent and looked up to see Sweeney stood there, sporting some hellish bruises. It looked like he'd been in a battle.

“Fuck off, Red. Kinda busy here,” the Technical Boy raises an eyebrow.

“I'll give ya something to be busy about, boy-o,” Sweeney squares his shoulders. “Stay away from the lady.”

“Hey stop it,” you stand up. “Tech's not bothering me and if he was I can take care of myself. Did you forget I used to tear humans apart with my bare hands?”

“Still,” Sweeney glares. “He's one a' the new gods. Can't fuckin' trust 'em. I'm just trying to protect ya.”

“So because she's a woman she needs to be protected?” the Technical Boy lays down the challenge. “Because from where I'm sitting, she could probably kick both of our asses. Although I think you'd probably like that, huh? You're always getting beaten up. I don't judge man, we all got our kinks.”

“Shut up!” Sweeney grabs him by the scruff of his shirt. “I've had shits bigger than you. Don't push me.”

“Enough,” you poke Sweeney in the chest and he winces. “Where the hell have _you_ been anyway? I tried calling.”

“Calling?” he lets go of the Technical Boy. “Calling what? My number? I never gave ya my number, lass. Didn't get a chance to. Wednesday's boy threw me out and beat the shit outta me. Every time I tried to come back, I'd get another pasting.”

“Donar...Donar lied? Fucking asshole. He was just trying to keep me from causing a scene!” you feel the anger bubbling up in your chest. “You know what, Tech? Let's make that deal. I'm not anybody's canary to be put in a cage.”

“Ready when you are, sweetheart,” the Technical Boy winks.

“If you need help getting away from this place, I'm here too,” Sweeney leans over the bar and grabs a bottle, swilling a little bit down. “But I can't say I approve of the whiny Millennial here.”

“Because being a violent, blundering oaf is so much better?”

“Least I can look after a lady.”

“She doesn't need looking after, shithead!”

“Well then she doesn't need some pencil dicked teenager.”

“Pencil dicked? I'll whip it out right now, Red. I'm not shy. You'll be eating those words with a side of ketchup.”

“Oh yeah?” they're chest to chest now. “I'm a _real_ God. I can take care a' her.”

“And I'm a new God. You're obsolete. I can help her last centuries more.”

“Are you two really doing this right now?” you interrupt. “Only, you're drawing attention. Follow me, otherwise Donar is gonna see and rat me out to Wednesday.”

They follow you to the dressing room, shoving each other like children as they go until they eventually get in the doorframe after some frenzied squeezing to be the first in.

“Why are you both being like this?” you fold your arms. “I don't want you fighting.”

“Because he doesn't deserve you,” they say in unison before turning to glare at each other.

“How about _I_ choose what I deserve?”

That causes them both to stare at the ground, embarrassed. You had an idea of what to do but you didn't know whether they'd accept it. After all, those feelings for Sweeney hadn't gone away and Tech had gotten under your skin a lot lately.

“Sorry,” Sweeney apologises followed by the Technical Boy.

“In my time, my prime era, it wasn't uncommon to be with more than one person. Might save you turning this into a brawl.”

“You mean...be with both of us?” Sweeney blinks.

“It's called polyamory, dude. Get with the times. People were doing it in your day too, just it was all guys and their harems,” the Technical Boy snorts. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. As long as I got a chance with you.”

“Are you expecting me to fuck this streak of water too?” Sweeney looks the Technical Boy up and down.

“Not if you're not into it,” you try to hide the smile but it fails.

The Technical Boy just blows Sweeney a kiss and Sweeney shifts a little, pondering the offer.

“Alright then. This is unusual for me, mind but if it makes ya happy, lass,” he finally says.

You walk up to him and give him a soft kiss which he returns gratefully.

“Starting to look more of an attractive prospect already,” he smiles. “Go on. Don't leave the lad out then.”

You turn and crook your finger towards the Technical Boy who comes closer and his kiss is a lot more teasing and aggressive. You can tell he's enjoying the rivalry with Sweeney immensely.

“Now, let's get you outta here,” he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text to Mr World. “You're too much of a star for this shithole.”

“Ya know, you and I agree on that one,” Sweeney nods. “Let's go.”

The three of you walk out, Sweeney taking your hand and the Technical Boy taking your other to match. When you reach the lobby, Mr Wednesday is at the ticket booth and he does a double take.

“So I say don't fuck in front of my customers and you decide to shack up with another guy?” Wednesday's eyebrow raises. “Are you that led by your cunt that you can't follow simple instructions?”

Both men try to leap at him but you pull them back but not before there's a string of swearing.

“I swear to Bran I'll fuckin' rip yer throat out and stuff it up yer arse,” Sweeney snarls.

“I'll blind your other eye, you dusty old fuck,” the Technical Boy hisses.

You just break free of them, step forward and punch Wednesday so hard in the face that he falls over the booth and out of sight with a loud cry.

“That was so fucking hot,” the Technical Boy groans.

“We agree again,” Sweeney laughs.

“I quit, you slimy bastard!” you yell at Wednesday before gathering your men and walking out of the theatre for good.

You were finally free.


End file.
